Accomplice
by Robin Sparrow
Summary: Sequel following Sixty-Six, Feelings, and Here Comes a Candle. Kate and Barry finally make it to Liore, but soon find themselves in a sticky situation when they come face-to-face with surviving victims of his past crimes. Complete!
1. Old Acquaintances

Time really flies when you're not on the computer all day! Actually, entire days sometimes get swallowed up by the internet... Okay, so time flies in general. WHATEVER! The point is, I'm back (again) and yes, Kate and Barry are still running around Amestris trying to sort out their lives. And after three years (has it REALLY been that long?!) in real time (and goodness knows how long in story time), they've finally reached their destination, Liore.

I realize it's been a little over two years since the previous installment in the series, _Here Comes a Candle_**.** My apologies! I honestly didn't realize it had been that long; I really could have sworn that Halloween special belonged to _last_ year's October. Oh well.

This fic was actually supposed to be another Halloween special, but alas, life got in the way (as always), and things didn't go quite according to plan. I almost decided to postpone it for Christmas, but now I'm getting ready for a big move and can't entirely depend on the stability of my living situation come December. Sooo, as a very special treat (or perhaps a trick?), consider this a Thanksgiving special. Every good [American] series gets one eventually!

Sort of like the previous fic, once again we're going to have some author's notes at the end of the chapters - but _unlike_ the ones from last time, these notes are going to be pretty sparse, and generally quite brief. Partly this is because there simply isn't as much to explain here, and party because I just don't have the time. Besides, some things are better left to the imagination, no?

Anyway, here it is, the latest (and quite possibly, though not entirely certainly) last Kate & Barry adventure. Which, as it turns out, is not as much of an adventure as it is a rather _revealing_ and sometimes even rather awkward unfortunate happenstance. Enjoy! And please remember to drop me a line if you enjoyed it; feedback is the spice of life! Or something. Anyway, enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Aha. I actually own a lot of this. Like Kate and the Walkers (which, oddly enough, sounds like a decent band). I do not, however, own Barry and Liore. Which is unfortunate, until you think about it.

* * *

**Chapter One: Old Acquaintances**

"Is it break-time yet?"

"We just took a break. Ten minutes ago."

"But it's so _hot_ out."

"Stop whining, you big baby."

"Oh yeah, like YOU'RE one to talk. All you do is walk around clapping and drawing. I'm the one who does the heavy lifting around here. You know, if you wanted me to be a pack animal, YOU SHOULD HAVE GIVEN ME A STRONGER BODY!"

"Oh, hush." Wiping the sweat from her eyes with the back of her hand, Kate leaned against the shaded side of the house with a sigh. Barry was right about one thing; Liore was a damned hot place. "How many times do I have to tell you? Don't shout about stuff like that. One day, someone might actually listen to you. And then where would we be?"

Tossing aside the plank of wood in his hands, Barry joined her in the shade. His body dripped with sweat, his fair skin ruddy with sun and heat. "So what? If anyone hears, I'll just kill them. Simple." He didn't bother launching into his usual rant; he lacked the energy.

"Yeah, yeah. You wish."

He closed his eyes. "You've got no idea."

They had arrived in Liore – thankfully avoiding any more unplanned detours following the misadventure they referred to only as That Night – a little over two weeks ago. A kind young woman named Rose helped them find lodging, food, and work, the latter of which seemed particularly abundant in the small desert town. The rumors of destruction were not as far-fetched as Kate assumed; the town, though still standing, required massive reconstruction, and with no alchemists of any real skill on-site, progress was steady but slow.

Kate, though sympathetic to the cause, couldn't help feeling just a little relieved to have found work. Fixing things was, of course, her expertise. More to the point, they needed the money. Even when customers couldn't pay – the citizens of Liore weren't exactly affluent – free food and lodging worked just as well as cash. Kate and Barry moved from house to house, rebuilding and repairing as they went, and for a time, their lives stabilized.

Kate enjoyed the reprieve from their usual turbulence, and even Barry seemed to quiet down (relatively speaking) for a while. She knew, however, that it couldn't last. She took a long draught of water, and nudged him with her elbow. "Hey. I never said you could take a break yet, buster. We've still got a couple hours before sunset."

"Screw you. I'm beat."

It wasn't a fair work load, of course; their skill sets being what they were, Kate drew the diagrams and crafted the proper alchemical circles, while Barry got the special privilege of carrying most of the heavy materials and positioning things properly pre-alchemy. But it kept him busy, and more importantly, under her supervision. And he was getting stronger – though she wasn't sure if that was really a good thing.

Kate yawned. "Come on. Just a little more and we'll be done." Taking out her chalk, she began adding to the transmutation circle on the half-repaired porch. She decided to add a new swing as a surprise to the couple inside. They'd been nothing but gracious to Kate and Barry, and they deserved a few more nice things.

"Tell me something, sweetheart. Why do you look so tired when I'm the one doing all the work, huh?" Barry lifted the wood again with a grimace, the muscles in his lean arms bulging with exertion. He shot her a sideways look. "Stay up late last night thinking about my cleaver?"

She made a gagging noise. "Please. Don't be disgusting."

"What are you saying?" He positioned the planks with a grunt and reached for the next few boards. "You didn't look disgusted the last time I saw you holding it. In fact, I think you _liked_—OW!" He rubbed the pink splotch forming on his cheek as a result of a well-aimed pebble. "What was that for?!"

"Idiot." She kept her head down, her copper hair just long enough to hide the hint of a grin on her lips. "Let's get this porch finished before dinner."

. . .

Mr. and Mrs. Walker's house smelled of fresh linen, cedar wood, and apple pie. Kate wouldn't have been surprised to see a wardrobe full of gingham gowns in Mrs. Walker's room and a hand-woven basket with a red and white checked tablecloth waiting in the pantry, though as of yet she'd seen evidence of neither. It was just that sort of place – warm, almost country, despite the desert landscape outside. A happy home for a happy family.

But something felt missing; Kate noticed it almost the moment they'd walked in the door. Though Mr. and Mrs. Walker appeared to be in their late sixties or so, they never mentioned children, or even grandchildren. Yet traces of a former occupant lay like a layer of dust over the guest room they kindly offered their tenants. Empty, off-colored spaces indicated framed pictures once hung on the walls; a dark purple stain on the wooden desk by the window suggested spilled ink, or perhaps nail polish.

And in one of the photographs sitting on the mantel in the living room, Kate noticed one in which a slightly younger version of the Walkers stood alongside a younger couple, a man and woman just barely in their twenties. They held hands, and smiled real smiles. Kate thought, or perhaps only imagined, that the woman, with her curly dark hair and almond eyes, looked a little like Mrs. Walker.

Kate decided not to mention it. Her job entailed fixing the house – only the house. Family secrets belonged to the family; they were no business of hers. But the night she and Barry finished the porch, Mrs. Walker caught Kate glancing curiously in the direction of the mantle.

"Wondering who they are?" Mrs. Walker chuckled and waved off Kate's immediate apology. "No need, dear, it's only natural. You probably wondered why we haven't been going on about our grandkids like other old people."

"Er – yeah, I did wonder. But I thought it'd be impolite to ask." Kate pushed the food around on her plate, grateful for what little distraction it offered her.

Barry, too hungry to care for conversation, seemed to ignore the exchange entirely, his attention solely focused on the meat on the plate in front of him. Mr. Walker, who resembled something of a walrus with his massive frame and impressively long moustache, glanced at Barry with distaste, his walrus-whiskers twitching.

"It's no secret around here. We used to have a daughter," said Mrs. Walker. She tapped her fork into a bite of baked potato, but her hand hovered over the plate, and she made no move to eat. "Mary-Ann. That's her husband, Will, next to her in the photo. He was such a nice young man. I wish he'd visit sometime." She sighed.

Mr. Walker's moustache twitched again, the mouth beneath it bowing as he scowled. "He doesn't have any business 'round here. And we got no business bothering him, either."

Mrs. Walker looked at him sadly, but didn't argue. "Well. At any rate, dear," she said, turning back to Kate, "she—she passed away, not long after they were married. But that was years ago, now." She put the fork and the piece of potato down on her plate with a tiny clink. "Well, I'm stuffed. Anyone for seconds?"

"Yes, please," said Barry cheerfully, handing over his plate like a child waiting to be served.

"I'm sorry," said Kate to Mrs. Walker, shooting Barry a dark look. "I didn't know. Is – did Will move away?"

Mr. Walker narrowed his eyes at her. "He doesn't visit because he doesn't want to."

Mrs. Walker patted Kate's shoulder. "They both moved to Central City after they got married. After she died, we heard he moved again – I'm afraid we're not sure where. I do hope he's doing well, wherever he is." She swallowed, and gave Kate a little squeeze. "Anyway, dear, would you like some more?"

"No, no thank you." She let Mrs. Walker take her empty dish, and glared at Barry again once she left. He shrugged, as if ignorant of his offence. Kate turned to Mr. Walker, just as he rose to take his own plate into the kitchen. "Mr. Walker?"

He looked down at her, gruff but benign. "What, child?"

"I apologize if this is prying too much, but—" Prying, indeed. She was about to go too far, and she knew it. But she plunged ahead anyway. "May I ask how she died?"

If Mr. Walker noticed the tremor in her voice, his face didn't show it. "She was murdered. Wasn't the only one. They caught the bastard who did it, though. Thank God." With a sigh he lumbered away, leaving his guests alone in the sudden, frozen silence.

Kate stared at Barry across the table. Motionless, he met her gaze blankly, waiting for her to make the first move.

Mrs. Walker's arm broke their line of sight. She set down a second plateful of food in front of Barry. "There you go, dear. I'm glad you like it. Would either of you like anything else? If not, I'm afraid I'll have to leave you to it for tonight – Mr. Walker is feeling a bit worn out, so we'll be going to bed a bit early if you don't mind."

"We're fine, thanks," Kate said, cutting off whatever Barry's response might have been. "Dinner was delicious, by the way." Without thinking, she took the older woman's hand. It felt so light in her palm, the skin delicate and paper-thin. She pressed it, gently, in her own. "Mrs. Walker, I – I really am sorry."

"Oh, I didn't mean to upset you, dear – don't worry about it." Her fingers tightened around Kate's. "It's good to remember, now and then. Mary-Ann really was a very dear girl – you remind me of her, a little. You both have the same kindness in your eyes." With one final pat, she released Kate's hand and headed for the door. "Don't worry about the dishes; we'll get them in the morning. Good night, you two. Sleep well!"

Kate's lip trembled, her hand balling around the warmth in her palm where Mrs. Walker's hand had been.

"What? Don't tell me you're upset." Barry asked, his mouth working to get the words around a mouthful of steak. "You're not gonna cry or anything, are you?"

"Don't." Her voice stayed low, but the effect was the same as a shout. "We'll talk in your room."

"Ooo—"

"Don't."

Barry fell silent. His eyes glinted as he glanced up at her from his plate. For the first time in weeks, she thought of the name they used to call him, back when he still prowled the dark streets of Central City, an urban legend searching for his next hapless victim.

* * *

**COMMENTARY**

_They had arrived in Liore – thankfully avoiding any more unplanned detours following the misadventure they referred to only as That Night . . ._

Yep. That Night in Silent Hill (in _Here Comes a Candle_) left a few mental scars which have yet to fully heal.

_A kind young woman named Rose . . ._

Yes, THAT Rose. The annoying one with the dead boyfriend or something.

_The rumors of destruction were not as far-fetched as Kate assumed; the town, though still standing, required massive reconstruction . . ._

Remember when Ed Elric broke Liore in the process of defeating Father Cornello? Liore's still recovering.

_"Mary-Ann. That's her husband, Will, next to her in the photo. . ."_

Fun fact: Mary Ann Nichols, wife of William Nichols, was a Whitechapel murder victim, the first of the canonical five Jack the Ripper killings. Yes, that makes _two_ different characters I've named after her. (Barry's wife, who I dubbed Ann, being the first.) But hey, who's counting? Also, Mary's maiden name was Walker, so... yeah.

_". . . They caught the bastard who did it, though. Thank God."_

Like pretty much everyone in Amestris (outside of the Mustang gang and the creeps who transmuted Barry's soul onto a suit of armor), the Walkers are blissfully unaware that Barry's "execution" didn't actually kill him.

For now.


	2. Knife's Edge

Are we having fun yet? Time to take a trip down memory lane - remember all those lovely midnight conversations Kate used to have with Barry's head, back when he was a shattered suit of armor? Here's what happens when she tries to have that same kind of talk with the flesh and blood version of said lunatic.

**Disclaimer**: I own naught but Kate and her seriously bad judgment. Really, serial killers are NOT ideal traveling companions.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Knife's Edge**

"You know, people really are too trusting." Barry flopped onto the bed, purposely bouncing as he rolled over to look at Kate, who lingered by the door. Neither bothered to turn the lights on; the dark seemed better suited to their conversation. "The world is full of dangerous things that like preying on defenseless little vermin, and yet they're willing to let strangers stay in their house while they sleep. I bet they didn't even lock the bedroom door."

Moonlight sifted in through translucent white curtains drawn across the window, draping the room in a faint, ghostly glow. They could just barely discern each other's faces. "It was you, wasn't it?" Kate walked over to the end of the bed, her hand gripping the post.

He pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it to the floor, reclining among the sheets and pillows like a cat at ease – claws, for the moment, retracted. "Mary-Ann, huh? The name _does_ seem familiar, somehow." He yawned.

"Don't play coy with me. Was it you, or not?"

"Who else?" Barry bared his teeth in a wide grin. "She was just as pretty as that picture, too. Definitely one of my favorites. She had just the right balance of lean muscle and fat—"

"Did you know? Before tonight, I mean."

"Maybe. I might have seen the photo when we got here." He folded his arms behind his head and looked down the length of the bed at her, smirking. "In fact, I might've recognized her face right away. I make a point not to forget them, you know. It would be such a waste."

"And – you didn't tell me?"

"Why? So you could throw a little tantrum and give me one of your We're Better Than This speeches? No thank you. Besides, it was fun watching you finally put the pieces together. The look on your face at dinner was priceless."

Her nails dug into the wood of the bedpost. "You jerk. What if they figured it out? What the hell am I supposed to do then?"

"What if I—"

"Don't say it. Don't even think it. You know better by now." She ran a hand through her hair, grimacing at the way her fingers caught in the tangles. She needed a shower, and maybe a haircut. "Don't do this again, okay? If we – if we meet more of them, more people connected to your victims—"

"What does it matter? Dead is dead – usually," he added with a wince. "Anyway, it's got nothing to do with you, sister."

"It has everything to do with me. If there's one thing I've got figured out so far, it's that I'm stuck with you. And vice-versa. I'm protecting them from you, and you from yourself, and that's how it's gonna be."

"But who's protecting you?"

The curtains rustled. The crack in the window frame was just wide enough to allow the occasional draft in; Kate made a mental note to fix it before they left. "You are. Bodyguard, remember?"

"Yeah, _right_." Barry rolled his eyes. "That joke wasn't funny the first time around. How about this one: what kind of bodyguard needs a bodyguard while he sleeps?"

Kate's poker face fractured. "What are you talking about?"

"I know you sneak in and watch me sleep. Kind of creepy, don't you think? And here I thought I was supposed to be the stalker in the night." His eyes danced with dark amusement.

The arrangement at every house was the same: each family usually had one guest bedroom, which Kate graciously insisted go to Barry, and a couch, which she ostensibly took for the night. As soon as the household fell asleep, she crept into Barry's room and placed herself on guard inside the door. She remained thus until just before dawn, when she would creep back out through the window, to nap on the couch if she made it in time – and if not, her excuse was simple: she enjoyed early morning walks.

Her secret routine kept her from anything remotely resembling a good night's sleep, but it also kept her conscience clear. It prevented Barry from sneaking out and sating his bloodlust, without raising anyone's suspicions by admitting she needed to keep watch in the first place. A simpler solution, of course, would have been to share the room, but sleeping so close to a serial killer seemed, well, stupid. As long as he didn't know she was there, however, he couldn't take advantage.

But he did know. "When did you realize?"

"Oh, a while back. I woke up one time and saw you fast asleep on the floor. Totally knocked out. I thought about killing you, but I didn't want to wake you. You looked like you could use the rest."

He'd been awake, and she hadn't known. She was a light sleeper, but what if it wasn't enough? "Did you leave?"

"Huh?"

"Did you ever leave? While I was asleep?" Her face looked twice as pale in the moonlight. Her knuckles turned stark-white. "Did you—"

Barry laughed. "Oho, you're worried now, aren't you? How many people do you think I've killed since we've been here? One? Two? How long do you think before they start to notice and organize a manhunt? Hmmm. I wonder if they'd figure it out right away, or if they'd let it go on for years, like those geniuses back in Central? I was right under their noses all the time, and yet I managed to slaughter almost two dozen little lambs before they caught me."

"Oh, God, you didn't! Barry—" She looked away. She could hear her own blood pounding in her ears. Her chest hurt. "No. This can't be happening. I—" She stopped, frowning, and looked at him again. He was laughing harder than ever. "Barry?"

"Ohoho, where's a mirror when you need one? Ohhh, you should see the look on your face!" he wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye.

"You – you really didn't. You stayed in your room?"

He held his hands up, as if to say, "Who knows?"

She punched at his leg with a growl. "You idiot. Don't _do_ that. I can't believe I actually fell for that."

"Well, serves you right. Don't forget what I am. It's bound to happen sometime. Just ask poor little Mary-Ann."

Kate left the bed and went to the window, peeking out between the curtains at the abandoned street. "I try not to forget. I wish you would, though."

"I am what I am. Would you really have me any other way?" he teased.

She didn't take the bait. She honestly didn't know the answer. A question floated through her mind, but she shied away from it at first. Curiosity killed the cat, after all. But then, cats were supposed to have nine lives. Maybe she had a few left to spare. "Why didn't you kill me?"

"What?"

"I was asleep. In your room. And you knew it. Why didn't you do anything?" She turned to see him sitting up straight in the bed, staring at her, and added, "I'm surprised I'm still alive."

He considered this. "Well, I mean, it's obvious, isn't it? It's no fun to kill people when they're asleep. I want to see the fear in your eyes. I want to witness that delicious moment of dawning realization when you suddenly realize you're about to die."

Once upon a time, his threats carried weight. But either they'd worn out over time, or she'd simply stopped being afraid somewhere along the way. She stepped forward. "I'm awake now. I'm right here. Why not kill me now?"

He frowned, and edged away from her. "Huh?! You got a death wish or something?"

"What's wrong? You're a murderer. Why listen to me? Why do you let me boss you around? How come you don't just snap and slit my throat?"

"Don't shout at me! What do you want from me? You WANT me to kill you now?"

Kate shook her head, and forced her voice down a few octaves. "I just don't understand. I can't tell if you're better, or if I'm just making you worse. Back in – that place – I accepted what you are, and what sort of person that makes me for protecting you. I don't care. But I don't get it. I don't know what I am to you."

Barry gaped at her. Then, without a sound, he pushed himself up off the bed to face her full-on, his face inches from hers and his eyes glaring in the shadows. "I told you before. You're—" His teeth clicked, his mouth clamping shut over his next words. He remembered that night, the night he'd killed his wife for the second time. He remembered Kate coming after him, he remembered his own confusion over the same question she was asking him now. She was supposed to be prey. But she wasn't, and now he didn't know what to do with her.

"Barry, wait."

Her whisper brought him back to himself, and he found that during his distraction he'd managed to pin her to the wall, his butcher's knife pressed against her throat. He chuckled, making a low, animal sound in the back of his throat. "Tell me: how many times have we done this, now?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I lost count."

He could practically see her pulse racing, knew without touching how it would feel to press a hand to her heart – or to her jugular. But she didn't panic. She didn't even try to fight or escape. She just watched him, waiting.

He pushed the knife into her skin, just nicking the surface, and she flinched.

"Damn it, I wish you'd stop doing that." She did her best to sound annoyed. "I hate having to heal myself all the time."

"Why aren't you afraid? I could kill you in an instant. Or worse." He sneered.

Gooseflesh rose on her skin where his breath tickled her neck and collarbone. She lifted her chin. "Uh-uh. I asked you first."

"I've got the knife." He pressed harder, watching the blood seep out around the blade, dripping down to stain the collar of her shirt.

"And I can wait you out." She glanced down. "Also, you owe me a new shirt. Again."

"Stop joking. I'm serious."

"So am I."

Neither moved. The house creaked and sighed around them, adjusting to the cool night air. Outside, a moth flitted briefly against the windowpane, searching vainly for a light that wasn't there.

"Being morbid isn't a crime, you know." Kate kept her voice so low that Barry needed to lean in a little closer just to hear her. "I never asked you to be someone else. I just think there's more to you than being a killer. And – I don't want you to die." She forced herself to look him in the eye. "It might be selfish, and maybe it's wrong. But it's true, all the same."

Barry pulled the knife away, though he kept it close to her throat. "Are you insane? What does it matter to you if I live or die?"

She pursed her lips. "It just does. Now, your turn. I gave you my answer; it's only fair."

"Yeah, well, life's not fair." He started to back away, but she seized his arm, her fingers wrapping tightly around his thin, sinewy wrist.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "Afraid to talk about it?"

"What is WRONG with you? What are you playing at?" With a snarl, he broke free of her grasp and backed away, eyeing her anxiously. "Ever since I met you, all you do is pry. Don't you have better things to do than get inside my head?"

"I did, yeah. Once." She clapped her hands together and pressed her fingertips against the cut on her neck. A flash of blue, and it healed without a trace of scarring. "But like I said, I'm stuck with you now."

"You got yourself into this," he snapped. His bare feet smacked against the floorboards as he paced. "You can get yourself back out of it anytime you like. Things would certainly be easier that way. Or do you _like_ waiting around for me to kill someone else? I'm not sure I buy all that savior-complex stuff." He advanced again, not raising the knife but instead threatening her with his eyes. "You know, I think you just live vicariously through me. Secretly, you want it, but you can't admit it. See, if I do all the dirty work, you won't have to feel guilty later—"

She slapped him, just hard enough to sting. "I've got enough vices as it is. Don't make up extra ones to add to the list."

He narrowed his gaze. "Fine. But come on, let's be honest here. You _are_ drawn to it. I can see it in your eyes."

"You really are an idiot. That's not it at all. Remember when I did this?" She put her hand against the scar of a bloodseal on his chest. Something changed in his eyes. He jerked and began to back away. This time, she followed him, keeping her hand on the seal. "It doesn't hurt, does it? You said it feels strange, but you said there was no pain. So why are you flinching?"

"Aaah, stop – it's weird, I told you! STOP!" He ran out of room, backed into the edge of the bed. He wobbled, just barely keeping his balance.

"Then answer my question."

"I don't even remember what the question was anymore, you freak of nature! Get AWAY from me!" He slashed out at her with the knife, but the blade caught only fabric, leaving a small gash in her sleeve.

Her eyes widened, and she moved her hand away from the seal again. "You missed on purpose."

"I—I—" To admit missing on purpose meant surrender. But to claim he'd made a mistake was even worse. He fumbled for words. "You – you're insane. You're completely insane. What's gotten into you? I'm supposed to be the scary one around here!"

Something about having a mass murderer call her insane gave Kate pause. "I don't know. Maybe it's something I realized back in – in – Silent Hill." She hated saying it out loud, but silence didn't make it go away. The nightmares That Night had been real, whether she liked it or not. "Look, I just – I want to know how much of an idiot I am, all right? For trusting you. I mean, as far as not killing me. I don't know why, but I just don't think you will. And not knowing why bothers me almost as much as knowing I do trust you, even a little."

"Well, that's easy. You're as stupid as they come. Didn't I say people are too trusting?" The color returned to his face as he recovered himself. "You've got no idea what I think about when I look at you. Who knows what I did to you while you were asleep at my door?"

"There are a few things I'd be bound to notice," she remarked dryly. "Anyway, I'm a light sleeper."

"Ohoho." He licked his lips. "Not _that_ light."

The hair on the back of her neck stood up at that. "Would you put the knife down while we talk? Please?"

"Make me."

Indistinct reflections glinted off the side of the cleaver still clutched in his hand. She feigned a lunge for it. Moments later, she found herself splayed underneath him on the bed, her wrists pinned with one of his hands while the other held the knife over her cheek, just under her eye.

Barry made a face at her. "_Really?_ You actually thought that would work?"

"Thought it was worth a shot. Get that out of my face."

He complied, moving the knife to rest it against her chest. She could feel the sharp edge pressing against the cloth of her t-shirt. He regarded her with interest. "Oh?" Then, "_Ohhh_. I see."

She started to struggle, but if she moved the knife would cut. She settled for giving him her best evil eye. "See what?"

"You're not scared." He titled his head. "But you _are_ nervous. Interesting." He traced a line down her abdomen with the cleaver, keeping his touch too light to cut. "How _very_ interesting."

She shivered. "Cut it out."

"What a poor choice of words. What, exactly, would you like me to cut?" He snagged the hem of her shirt with the tip of the blade and bared her stomach, drawing light, invisible lines along her exposed flesh. "Your guts? Your spleen? Your kidneys? Or maybe—" He slid it back up to rest just over her left breast. Her pulse fluttered.

"I'd rather stay in one piece, thanks. Get off."

He looked her over, and she wondered if he was seeing her, or the way she would look hanging from a hook in a butcher's shop. One could never tell. "So stubborn," he muttered. "Why can't you just admit what you want?"

The bed creaked slightly as she shifted her weight. "Barry, how hard is it to understand I don't want to be chopped up?"

"Oh, _that's_ not what I meant, silly." He released her hands. "There. Now you can do whatever your foolish little heart desires. Push me off if you want to. Hit me. I'll even let you hold my knife, if you promise to give it back."

Her eyes clouded with confusion. "What are you doing?"

"Showing you what you are. Go on. You said you wanted me to stop. Make me."

"What – what I am?" She could hear herself parroting him and wanted badly to stop, yet she couldn't seem to figure out how else to react. Death threats and moral debates she could handle, but this was something altogether other. "What do you mean?"

"You asked." His mouth curved like a sickle. "I'm answering."

"I don't understand—"

"Are you a victim? I think we both know you're not a hero." He leaned closer. "Or – are you an accomplice?"

She closed her fist, knowing she should hit him, or escape, or both. Instead, she watched herself reach once again for the mark on his chest. He frowned, but she stopped just short of touching him, her fingers brushing the air just a breath away from the seal. "Don't move this time," she murmured. She traced the scars lightly with the tips of her fingers, and felt a faint shudder run through him.

"What _is_ your fascination with that, anyway?" He swallowed hard, but didn't move away.

She offered him a small, wry smile of her own. "I like watching you react."

"Ha, ha, ha. See?" he whispered, his breathing growing ragged as her fingers continued to trace. "You're no victim, either." He never realized before that there might have been a third option. "Though I still think you'd make quite the masterpiece if you just let me chop you up a little. You could be my best work yet."

She swallowed a giggle. "Should I be flattered?"

"See, there's your problem. Stop asking what you 'should' be and just – _be_."

She found herself thinking suddenly of Silent Hill again – of the hospital, and all those holes in the ground she'd leapt blindly into to get to him. She felt the same vague sense of vertigo now as she did when she'd peered down into those holes, debating whether jumping would lead her to what she was searching for, or to her death. Perhaps both.

"Barry—"

A scream, shrill and far too close for comfort, cut through the moment like a knife. Barry cocked his head. "That's funny. It sounded like it came from inside the house. But I'm not killing anyone right now."

With a grunt, Kate shoved him off and leapt to her feet. "It's sad when that's what worries me. Come on." She tugged on her deconstruction gloves – just in case – and bolted out of the door, following the direction of what now sounding like sobbing coming from the Walkers' master bedroom.

Kate knocked loudly on the door. "Mrs. Walker? Mr. Walker, are you guys all right?"

"Oh – oh I'm fine, dear," came Mrs. Walker's muffled voice from within. "I'm so sorry for waking you. I guess our talk earlier brought up some bad memories. But it was just a dream."

The door opened just as Barry joined her, and Mr. Walker greeted them with a weary look. "She just had a nightmare, 's all. We're fine." He frowned, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. "What the—What's going on here?!"

It took Kate a moment to realize what they must have looked like from his point of view. There she stood, her collar bloodied and her sleeve torn, her hair no doubt a mess, and there was Barry, casually standing half-naked behind her with a bloodstained cleaver.

"Oh – _oh!_" Mrs. Walker joined him in the doorway. "Dear, are you all right? What happened?"

Mr. Walker shifted slightly, protectively repositioning himself to stand in front of his wife. "Is that blood on your shirt, girl?"

"I—Oh, well yes, I, ah…" Kate stumbled through vowels, struggling to string the right words together. She'd mentally prepared an encyclopedia of excuses, just in case, but suddenly her mind felt as blank as an empty journal. "It was an accident. I cut myself."

"On what?" Mrs. Walker asked. Her eyes were wide with fright, and Kate didn't know if it was leftovers from the dream or real panic at the sight before her.

"On—Barry was showing me how to sharpen a knife. You know, in case I need to – carve a turkey or something." Genius. She tried not to cringe. "But I was a little clumsy, and I cut myself on the knife. I guess I made a bit of a mess before I realized."

To their credit, neither of the Walkers appeared convinced. "And _why_ exactly were you sharpening knives in the middle of the night? Couldn't it wait till morning?" Mr. Walker demanded. His moustache twitched.

"I—uh—" Good question. Kate wished she knew a good answer.

With a sleazy grin, Barry slung an arm around her shoulders. "You'd be surprised. She's into some pretty freaky stuff."

The Walkers gaped, a fresh wave of mortification washing over their expressions. Kate's face burned, flushing a deep scarlet in an instant. She bit down hard on her tongue to keep from giving herself away. "I—er, sorry to worry you," she managed, unable to look the couple in the eye. "I just really like watching him work. He used to be a – uh, a blacksmith. So he knows about that kind of thing."

Mr. Walker looked ready to call the police. Mrs. Walker, pale though she was, managed a small, polite smile and patted his arm briskly. "Well, Mr. Walker, looks like we all scared each other, eh? We'll just be getting back to bed now, dears. Eh – in the future, it might be best to keep to our initial agreement. With the room and the couch. All right?"

"Of course." Kate nodded emphatically. "I apologize for – yeah. I'll sleep on the couch."

"Thank you, dear. Good night!" In a flash, the door slammed in their faces. A second later, a telltale click told them it was locked. Kate wouldn't have blamed them if they'd blocked it with furniture as well, just for good measure.

Removing her gloves, she covered her face with her hands and went to the couch, flopping face-first into the comfort of the plush cushions. "Oh, God. Kill me now."

"Say please."

"I can't believe you did that." She rolled over to stare at Barry, her cheeks still bright red. "Do you realize how embarrassing that was? I'll never be able to look them in the face again."

"It worked, didn't it?" He looked down at her unconcernedly. "Besides, aren't we leaving soon anyway?"

"Yeah, I guess so, but – good grief." She covered her face again. "They probably want to bleach that entire room now. Or maybe set it on fire. For a minute there I thought he was going to pull out a shotgun or something."

Barry shook his head. "Nah. He doesn't have the eyes of a killer. He probably doesn't even know how to hold a gun."

She peeked out at him between her fingers. "What if they _do_ call the police?"

"Huh. I thought you said being morbid wasn't a crime?"

"Pfft." A laugh bubbled up, impossible to resist. She pressed her hands over her mouth to muffle the noise, and he grinned back at her. "Oh, man. All right." She got to her feet, wobbling a little. "I need a shower. And a change of clothes. And you – give me that before someone does try to arrest you."

Barry pulled his knife away, cradling it like some precious gift. "Why? I thought you said you trust me."

"With my life, yes. Not with other people's lives. Gimme." She put one hand on her hip and adopted her most authoritative voice. "Now."

With a grunt, he held out the cleaver. "You'll give it back, right?"

"Well, I don't want to keep it for myself," she scoffed. She reached out to take it, and jumped when he grabbed her wrist with his free hand.

He smirked. "Don't forget, that one's _mine_. If you want one too, get your own."

She jerked her hand away and stuck her tongue out at him. "Yeah, right. Good night, Barry. Hey," she added just as he began to turn away. "Don't sneak out while I'm in the shower, all right?"

"What? Without my knife?" He shook his head. "What's the point?"

She sighed. "So all this time, I could have just taken your knife away. It would have been so much easier than staying up late keeping watch."

"What, do you regret it?" He leered.

Rolling her eyes, she turned on her heel and headed for the shower. "Good _night_, Barry."

* * *

**COMMENTARY**

_She found herself thinking suddenly of Silent Hill again – of the hospital, and all those holes in the ground she'd leapt blindly into to get to him._

To quote the _Silent Hill_ Wiki, "Holes are a recurring theme in the series. Their interpretations range from the simple to the complex, but they usually symbolize characters' inner psyches and the darkness hidden in their hearts." In _Silent Hill 2,_ the protagonist's descent through various holes symbolized, among other things, delving into the depths of his fractured mind and repressed memories and getting closer to the truth. In _Silent Hill 3_, holes represented birth and rebirth. Take all of that as you will.

_"That's funny. It sounded like it came from inside the house. . ."_

Way to (sort of) quote _When a Stranger Calls,_ Barry.

_"On—Barry was showing me how to sharpen a knife. You know, in case I need to – carve a turkey or something."_

See?! I TOLD you this was a Thanksgiving special! Just be happy that hypothetical turkey wasn't the one from _Thankskilling_ (which is officially the worst movie in the history of everything). Gobble gobble, mother******!


	3. A Grave Visit

**EDIT 12-4-2013: **Originally I was going to post this on Thanksgiving, or at the very least earlier that week. But life happened. My family and I were moving to a new city, and just before moving day my father had a stroke. He's all right now, and for that I am very thankful, but obviously it threw a few wrenches into the works and, needless to say, things like updating fanfiction ended up on the back burner for quite a while. However, thank you for your patience if you've been waiting for this, and if you've only just found this story - well, at least you didn't have to suffer through the wait? Anyway, BACK TO THE ORIGINAL PROGRAMMING! (End of edit.)

Surprise, folks - this is it! For once, I managed to write a short fic that was longer than a one-shot, but no more than a few chapters total. This is the last chapter; hopefully you've enjoyed this brief, belated return to the Kate 'n Barry show. But don't touch that dial - you never know what I might have up my sleeve in the not-too-distant future. Muahaha.

Once again, to all my readers and reviewers - both recurring and new - thank you so, so much for your support and enthusiasm. I'm here for your entertainment, after all. In the words of my favorite Shakespearean sprite,

_"If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended: that you have but slumber'd here while these visions did appear . . . So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends."_

Good night and good luck, fair folk of FFnet! To my American readers - happy Thanksgiving! And to everyone else... er, happy November!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but my gratitude. Also, Kate.

* * *

**Chapter Three: A Grave Visit**

Breakfast the next morning embodied the purest possible form of the concept of awkward. For several minutes at a time, not a single word broke the silence, and no one seemed able to look at anyone else in the room (though in Barry's case, this was due more to disinterest than anything else). Finally, Mrs. Walker saved them. "Well, dears, you did a wonderful job on the porch." Her smile was almost believable. "Do you know where you'll be staying next, or will you need an extra night here?" Not a trace of malice flavored her tone, but the underlying meaning remained crystal clear: _please_, leave as soon as possible.

"Thanks, but we're all set." They could find work by the end of the day, Kate hoped. Something on the other side of town, perhaps. "Mrs. Walker? I hope you don't find this odd, but – is your daughter's grave here in Liore? I'd like to visit it, if you don't mind."

Stunned, Mrs. Walker did not respond for several moments. "Well, yes, we buried her in the cemetery just down the road. But I don't see why you need to do that. You never met her, did you?"

"I met Will a few times in Central. He was a good man, very much in love with his wife. I wish I had met her; she seemed like a wonderful person." The lie tasted bitter in Kate's mouth, but telling the truth was impossible.

"Oh. I see." Mrs. Walker picked at her food. "Well, that's very sweet of you, dear. Thank you."

Kate nodded, trying not to wilt under Mr. Walker's disapproving gaze. Unlike his wife, he seemed far from believing the story. But in the end, he kept his doubts to himself, and Kate and Barry departed from the house without incident, and walked away without looking back.

They stopped at the florist's first. "What are we doing here?" Barry asked. The shop didn't particularly look like it needed any work done.

"What do you think? Buying flowers." Kate chose a spray of white tulips, and led him back onto the street again, following the road south towards the cemetery.

A warm breeze drifted through the streets, early morning sounds of the city waking up providing a soundtrack for their walk. "You're serious?" Barry kicked at loose rocks on the way. "Why are you giving flowers to a dead woman you never even met? You know, I never did understand that tradition, anyway."

"Because your past is part of you. Whether you've changed or not." They crossed the dusty, beaten-down graveyard and found Mary-Ann's grave. Kate knelt before it, placing the flowers down gently in front of the headstone. Her eyes closed as if in prayer.

"What are you doing now?"

"Apologizing."

Barry blinked. "_You_ didn't do anything to her. I'm the one that—"

"Yeah, but somehow I don't see you apologizing for it." She opened her eyes again and looked up at him. "And that's fine. But someone should. Why not me?" She laid a hand on top of the stone. "I'm protecting the man that killed her. I want her to know that I have my reasons."

"She was pretty dead, last I checked. I really don't think she cares about your reasons."

"Well. It can't hurt." She stood, brushing dirt from her knees. "Are there any others here? Anyone else you met under the same circumstances?"

"You mean, anyone else I murdered in cold blood?"

Her expression never changed. "Yes."

"Hmm." He glanced around half-heartedly. "Don't think so. Most of them – well, what's left of them – are probably still in Central."

"Well. When we're done in Liore, we're going to make a pit-stop there. Besides, I owe the Colonel and the gang a visit."

"What, are you going to visit all of the graves now?" Barry followed her as she chose a direction in random and followed it, waiting to see what work would crop up along the way.

"Maybe." Above them, the sky shone blue and clear; not a single cloud dared go near the sun. "I'd like to know more about them."

"Ask me whatever you like. I can tell you exactly how they looked when I—"

Kate punched his arm. "You know that's not what I meant." She paused. "Barry, your wife. I know you don't like to talk about her. But I want to visit her, too."

"No. No, no, NO. I already killed that bitch twice. I'm not going anywhere near her ever again! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME—"

Kate clamped a hand over his mouth. "Shhh. You don't have to. I'll go alone. I just want to know where she is."

Moving her hand, he muttered, "It doesn't matter. She's dead. You can't fix that."

"I know. Barry, please just tell me."

He grumbled, but at length he finally said, "Central. She's in Central. The main cemetery. Happy?"

"Yes. Thank you." She hesitated. "You killed her _twice_?"

"DON'T ask." He started walking again, and she hastened to catch up.

"I think I know already." She touched his arm. "Sorry for bringing it up. You okay?" His head jerked down and up in a curt nod. "Hmm." She felt in her pocket; they had some money yet, enough for a few days at least. "I'll make it up to you. How about we take a break today? I want to check out the automail shop I saw the other day. And after that, we can swing by the butcher's shop and pick up some meat for dinner. Rose said we were welcome to stay with her anytime we like, and I'm pretty sure she had a grill." She nudged him. "I'll let you cook."

His eyes lit up, but he struggled to keep his expression serious. "That's only gonna work so long. Chopping up dead animals is a poor substitute for carving into living flesh."

"Beggars can't be choosers. Take it or leave it."

He heaved an overdramatic sigh and shrugged. "Fine. I suppose it's better than nothing."

"That's a good boy." Hopping up on tip-toe, she kissed him on the cheek, so quick he almost missed it. "Follow me."

He let her take his hand and lead him down the road, too surprised to protest. "You're in an awfully good mood all of a sudden." He thought for a moment. "And you still have my knife."

"Yep."

"Did you sleep well, knowing it was near? I find I have the most wonderful dreams when I sleep with it under my pillow."

She rolled her eyes. "I slept well because I knew you didn't have it."

"Ah, I see. You prefer receiving pain to—what?" The look on her face stopped him mid-sentence.

She shook her head. "Nothing. You just reminded me of something, well, not pleasant." She could still hear that voice on the phone even now. _Do you prefer to give pain, or to receive it?_ "And for the record, no, I'm not a masochist."

"Oh really? Could've fooled me last—oof." He grunted when she punched him again with her free hand. The other, however, still held tight to his.

"You talk too much, Barry."

"Says the lady who never runs out of questions?"

"Yeah, well, I'll stop asking when you stop being interesting."

"Oho, well, don't hold your breath." He caught a glimpse of the pair of them reflected back in a shop window as they passed it by; they appeared, for all the world, to be no more than an average couple out for a morning stroll. Disgustingly normal. He made a face. "You know this can't last, right?"

The sound of Kate's boots stomping against the dry ground grew muffled as her pace slowed. "Can't it?"

"Can I ask you something? What will you do when we do get caught?" He tugged on her hand, pulling her into a full stop so that she turned to look at him. Not a trace of humor touched his face, and his grip tightened almost imperceptibly. "You know it's gonna happen sometime. Some poor, pathetic soul is gonna figure out who I am and call foul. I dunno about you, but I don't intend on letting them catch me again. I _will_ _not_ go back to that place." He shuddered.

"Hey, I don't intend on getting caught, you know."

"But we will."

"That's unusually pessimistic of you, Bar—"

"Oh, I don't care about being found out by one measly little nobody." He giggled. "You don't really think I'm worried about _that_, do you? In fact, it would be nice to get some recognition. I miss being famous. But no, I can deal just fine with _that_. What I want to know is whether _you_ can handle the consequences."

Kate took a step closer to him, glancing uneasily at a handful of heedless passersby. "No one would believe them. You're supposed to be dead, remember? Even if we got arrested, Roy could get us back out again in a minute."

"No, no, no, you're not listening. I told you, I'm not letting _them_ catch me ever again."

"Meaning?"

He glared at her. "Oh, I think you know what I mean. Now, would that be a problem?"

A harmless stranger nodded hello to them as he walked by, and Kate struggled to return the gesture without cringing. Yes, she knew exactly what Barry meant. Little birdies couldn't go tattling on them to the police if those birdies dropped dead before they could sing.

"You know there would be no other way to shut them up," Barry insisted, as if he could read her mind.

She wanted to protest, but the truth was if someone did identify him and the Amestrian government got their hands on him, chances were good he'd become a lab rat all over again quicker than he could say "cheese." As for Kate, she'd probably only be kept around long enough to be convinced – one way or another – to spill the secret of just how exactly she'd managed to fuse a good-as-dead man's soul with a hollow shell of a human body.

But did that justify taking an innocent victim's life?

Kill before being killed, that's how Barry saw it. Simple, easy – obvious, really. A matter of instinct and survival. And yet – and yet—

"If and when you get recognized, let them talk. We'll run, and if they come after us, we'll run faster."

"But that makes no sense!"

"It doesn't matter." She lowered her voice. "We can't just go around taking out innocent people because they might get us arrested. I can't let you do that."

"But—"

"But I _can_ promise that I will run with you, no matter how far or how long. I won't leave, and I won't fall behind. And if we get cornered, I'll fight with you. Until the end." She chuckled faintly. "Does that answer your question?"

Barry seemed struck dumb, either by the answer he hadn't expected, or perhaps by the intensity of its delivery. At any rate, Kate took his silence as an affirmation, and with a satisfied nod she turned on her heel and began leading him once more down the road.

Liore moved all around them, stretching its arms and legs for another day's long work of rebuilding, repairing, restarting life one brick at a time. The distant din of construction work echoed down the wide, dusty lanes, and a hint of apple pastry and cinnamon wafted out of a nearby bakery. Dogs barked; children laughed; an elderly man hummed to himself as he headed off on some happy errand.

But none of it mattered, none of it could touch them. Those sounds and smells and people belonged to a reality of good mornings, friendly handshakes, and random acts of kindness, where strangers' hospitality could be depended upon and basic goodness was so common a trait it got taken for granted. There was no room in such a place for serial killers with transplanted souls and rogue alchemists with savior complexes and nightmares full of real monsters.

Yet existence is made up of infinitely layered universes, and sometimes these parallel realities overlap so closely as to appear, to the naked eye, to be one and the same. Kate and Barry did not belong to that other, kinder reality, but they were getting better at pretending. At least, Kate thought so.

And every now and then, a moment came and went in which they didn't need to pretend. These brief, unwitnessed instants belonged to them and only them, and it was in these instants that Kate remembered why she'd walked away from good mornings and friendly handshakes to live in a reality of sharpened steel and blood in the moonlight. It was a one-way trip, of course; there was no going back from this. But at some point she made her peace with the fate she'd chosen as Barry's – what was it he'd called her? His _accomplice_ – though she couldn't have pinpointed the exact moment when; she was in the middle before she knew that she had begun.

Besides, now that she was here, she saw no reason to leave. It wasn't in her nature to leave a fixer-upper only half-finished, and there was quite a bit of work to be done yet. Demented though such sentiments surely were, she found she was actually looking forward to it. To hell with whatever end it brought her to.

And Barry – Barry didn't know what to make of any of it. Their reflections in the shop windows taunted him, following him down the street like a pair of obnoxious children sticking out their tongues and refusing to be shooed. And Kate's smiled at him. As if she was actually happy.

That couldn't be right. Just the night before she'd stared into his victims' eyes with heartstring-yanking sympathy in her own, judging herself for her choices – judging him, too, though she wouldn't have admitted it. She questioned everything, all the time, yet her mirror image looked so sure of herself, head held high and lips curved upward (and not even with a sarcastic twist). And her fingers stayed intertwined with his, holding on tight as though afraid he might slip away.

They really did look disgustingly normal together. Any given stranger could have mistaken them for just another guy and gal out on the town, off to meet up with some friends, perhaps or – God forbid – out on some cheesy romantic date. Ridiculous. Utterly insane.

Yes, that was it – insane. Barry couldn't help it; a grin broke out in the midst of his scowl. Normal on the outside, crazy on the inside. A recipe for catastrophe. Something was bound to go disastrously wrong someday; crazy always leads to chaos. His grin widened.

Now _that_ he could live with.

* * *

**COMMENTARY**

_"Yes. Thank you." She hesitated. "You killed her twice?"_

Once in Central, once in Silent Hill. Barry doesn't like to talk about her much.

_"I will not go back to that place."_

Laboratory Five. Where Barry first became a test subject.

_. . . she was in the middle before she knew that she had begun._

Well, HELLO there, random Jane Austen reference! Raise your hand if you remembered that line in _Pride & Prejudice._ Originally it referred to how Mr. Darcy came to realize his love for Elizabeth Bennet. Make of that what you will.

Annnd that's all, folks! Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
